


couldn't break from the concrete

by Nyxierose



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Religion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 21:52:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6095185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bubbles were always meant to be popped.</p><p>(Or, the ensemble AU about rebellion and survival and super-religious subcultures.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	couldn't break from the concrete

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer - a lot of the events in this fic (not ALL but a majority) actually did happen either to myself or someone I know. Hence the fact that this is a somewhat odd AU but something I'm doing because I need to make sense of stuff and I've always written fic as a form of therapy and... hold on tight because it gets weirder. It ALWAYS gets weirder...
> 
> Title from "Brothers On A Hotel Bed" by Death Cab For Cutie.

On the list of things Lincoln expects to happen to him at the funeral, being sexually propositioned is… really, about the opposite of anything that seemed likely several hours ago.

He didn't know the dead kid that well. None of them did, and even _at_ the funeral he has trouble remembering the boy's name, but it's the sort of obligation event where everyone of their era turns up and looks nice and behaves themselves even during the post-service lunch. The sort of obligation, if past outings are anything to go by, where he'll isolate himself and barely talk to anyone beyond formalities and everything will go _fine_ and he'll forget it ever happened after a month.

(Okay, maybe not totally forget this one. It's tragic that someone of their background took his own life, and Lincoln veers more sympathetic than most people, but it's not like he was involved. He'll remember, but he won't be haunted in any serious way.)

Initially, everything does go as he expects. The service is respectful and blessedly short, and he slips into his usual position during the lunch and means to stay there until his sisters are ready to leave, is absolutely determined until a purple blur flits into his field of vision and _this_ is how the day derails.

The girl sits down next to him, takes his hand under the tablecloth like she always does. If they were a little more isolated, he knows she'd move closer and rest her head on his shoulder, but too many people can see them right now and she's even more aware of that than he is. Any form of affection in public will make people talk, and right now neither of them can risk that.

"Can we talk?" Octavia asks, squeezing his hand as if her tiny body is capable of any sort of damage. There's a danger in her today and he's not sure what caused it but he's minutes from finding out whether he wants to or not.

"Here, or private?"

"Private."

Private means stand up at the same time but take completely different routes out of the church. Private means loop around, take an indirect route and finally stop behind the storage shed and _breathe_ for a few moments because her route takes longer still and then there she is, glorious, falling into his arms because the rules have never truly applied to them.

"I want you to fuck me," she murmurs.

He recoils, back against the shed. " _What_?!"

"You heard me," she smirks. She's too good at this, too beautiful and hypnotic to even be real.

"Why?"

It's a simple question, but she looks away and for a moment he's convinced she's going to cry and that's the last thing he needs right now. Bad enough she's got another one of her odd ideas - as much as he loves her creativity and sense of self, sometimes it's downright terrifying - but so much worse if it's an episode too. So much worse if-

"Because we're still alive, and we're trapped in a prison, and I want to feel something for once."

She's got valid points, definitely, but he doesn't even have time to process that before she kisses him. She's so small and yet somehow _not_ , standing on tiptoe and looping her arms around his neck to pull him closer to her level, and she tastes like sadness and want and something unspeakably _good_ and it's all too easy to reciprocate, let his guard down and let it happen.

"Was that okay?" she asks. again on the edge.

"Nothing to compare it to," he replies, embracing her again. "I just… why me?"

"Because you're my best friend," she laughs, as if that explains everything. "You're one of the good ones, Lincoln."

He wants to tell her she's wrong, he's got scars just like the ones she can't quite hide and he's still only human, but there's such hope in her eyes and he _can't_. Not here, not like this, not with her body so close to his and wanting. It's electric, almost, and for once the voices in his head are silent.

"Now?" he somehow manages to say.

"We're both stuck here for at least another hour," she shrugs. "My mom's running cleanup, and your sisters are…"

"You're completely sure?"

She gives him a _look_ of the I-know-I'm-half-your-size-but-I-could-still-end-you variety. "I wouldn't be asking you if I wasn't. And if you're not… god, this was a stupid idea, I-"

"It's not stupid, Tae." He's not sure where this sudden bravado is coming from, but it's interesting and he wants to see where it leads. "I just… there are consequences."

"I don't care."

"Tae-"

"We're not kids anymore, not really. I'm eighteen and it hit me an hour ago, sitting in there and pretending I even cared, that I've never done anything for _me_. I want to change that, and I want you to help me, and I won't… I won't do the terrible things, I won't regret this in a week and say you hurt me. I _promise_ I won't." And now she's crying. "I'm asking you because I trust you, okay?"

There's so much fire in her, Lincoln thinks, loosening his embrace so he can take her in. There always has been, ever since they were tiny - he remembers being seven years old, right after her family moved here, and having a quiet sort of admiration for her and her determination to do everything the boys did. It is, in a sense, the same admiration he has for her now. Even in their isolated community, Octavia has a certain talent for doing exactly what she wants and he's almost honored to be the second participant in her downfall and-

It ends badly. He knows it ends badly. But right now, he doesn't care either.

It's not the rebellion he expected for himself, lying on still-cold ground with his only real friend and exploring what softness she has. Their bodies fit well enough, and he's not sure what she's feeling or if it's good but she makes such lovely noises as they move together and he thinks that means he's doing something right. There's pressure building inside him, closer closer closer and then bursting all at once, and he shifts off of her as soon as he thinks to but still not soon enough.

Consequences, he'd said. He hopes they'll get lucky anyways.

"Don't hate me," he murmurs, gently taking her hand once they've rearranged their clothes.

"Never gonna happen," she counters, kissing him one last time. "I like you too much."


End file.
